Ride Along
by firstadream
Summary: He's riding a motorcycle. With Beckett. He never thought this day would come. Chapter 2 up!
1. Ride

_Because Castle+Beckett+a motorcycle=sexy time. Obviously. _

—

Castle follows Kate out of his building and onto the street, then almost chokes when he sees what's parked in front of them. It isn't her cruiser. Or any car for that matter. It's a motorcycle. A sleek, shiny, black motorcycle that Kate is currently _mounting_.

He must make some ineloquent, garbled sound, because she casts him a pointed look, all raised eyebrows and flashing eyes and she is _straddling_ her _bike_ with her _thighs_ and he can't even believe this is happening.

"You coming, Castle?" she asks, flipping her hair over her shoulder and sliding her helmet on.

God, she even makes safety look hot.

He suddenly appreciates her choice of outfit even more than he did twenty seconds ago: black jeans, black v-neck, black leather jacket, not to mention the dark, smoky eyes, mascara, and pink lips, all of it combining and melding together like something out of his fantasies.

She is amazing. And hot. And really sexy. And kinda slutty when she wants to be and he _loves_ it.

"Seriously, _Castle_," she practically groans at him, totally impatient, "let's get a move on," and then she's turning on the ignition and kicking the bike into first gear and revving something and he thinks he might actually faint.

He stumbles towards her, eyes a little wide, completely falling in love with this badass, biker chick version of the woman he loves. It makes sense. Fits in nicely with all the other versions of her he's catalogued over the years—the straight-laced, by-the-book detective, the break-all-the-rules and fuck-anyone-who-tries-to-stop-me detective, the Kate that he's been waking up to all summer, nothing but soft curves and soft smiles and soft kisses, the Kate he sometimes gets to go to bed with, totally in charge and so hot he feels like he's going to burst into flames.

So many layers to the Beckett onion. She always keeps him guessing.

She thrusts a helmet at him that is not nearly as cool as hers but he could not care less as he puts it on and tightens the strap before hopping on the motorcycle behind her.

He's riding a _motorcycle_. With Beckett. He never thought this day would come.

He wraps his arms around her waist, pressing closer than is probably necessary, but she's just so _hot_ and he cannot possibly be expected to keep his hands off her in a moment like this, let alone _not _take the opportunity to align the plane of her back to his chest and slide forward on the leather seat so that her ass fits snugly in the v of his legs.

He thinks he hears her gasp a little when he locks his arms around her waist, hands settling low on her stomach, but he can't be sure because she's pulling out into traffic and then he can't hear anything except his pounding heart and the roar of the wind in his ears.

—

She takes the long way to the precinct, adds about twenty minutes to the commute and he loves her for it, cannot stop grinning as they zoom along. Heads turn as they zip around corners or pause at stop signs and he _knows _they're not looking at him, but who even cares when _he _is the one who gets to be with her and put his hands all over her.

She rolls into the parking garage a little before nine and cuts the engine, pulling her helmet off and shaking out her hair, whipping him in the face a little. Now that there's no wind he suddenly realizes how _fantastic_ she smells—like leather and fruity shampoo and the tangy zip of her perfume underneath it all.

She doesn't make a move to get up and he follows her lead, though he gentles his grip around her waist, sliding his palms back so that they bracket her waist. She unzips her jacket and lets out a long sigh, before leaning back against him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

_Huh_. He wasn't expecting that. He thought she'd be annoyed at him for being overly handsy or almost making them late or _something_. Not that he's complaining.

He sits there reveling in the closeness until he feels her shift on the seat, grinding back against him a little. _Oh._ She's turned on. Maybe as turned on as he is and this morning is turning into so many fantasies rolled into one that he thinks he might not survive.

He quickly undoes his own helmet, resting it against the back of the bike, before glancing around them and grinning when he finds the parking garage blessedly empty. He squeezes her hips lightly with his fingers, before sliding his hands forward, rucking up her shirt so that he can press his palms against her bare skin.

Her breath hitches, her fingers squeezing reflexively where they rest on his thighs. She scoots back at the same time he scoots forward and he has to bite back a groan because there is _zero_ space between them and she must be able to feel how turned on he is by what they are doing.

She turns her head to the side, craning her neck so that she can press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, light and questing. He tilts his head down and meets her lips in a gentle kiss that quickly spirals out of control. She parts her lips to the slide of his tongue and he groans at the taste of her, the heat of her, the way she gives back as good as she gets.

He dips his fingers lower, underneath the waistband of her tight, tight jeans and she breaks the kiss long enough to let out a breathy _yes_ that echoes in the large garage, bouncing off the metal rafters above them.

"We're going to be late," he points out, feels like he needs to before he can't, before he's not able to stop.

She thinks about it for about half a second, then mutters, "So?" making him grin, because the whole situation is basically amazing. Beckett is hot for him, wants to have sex with him _on her motorcycle_, so badly that she's willing to risk the wrath of Gates.

Best. Day. Ever.

He presses a kiss to her neck, sucking hard enough to make her gasp, but not hard enough to leave a mark. It would be difficult to make anyone believe any viable excuse for being late if she's standing there with a fresh hickey on her neck.

She sighs, a breathy little whimper that has heat zipping through his bloodstream. She reaches up and wraps a hand around the back of his neck and reaches for the button on her jeans with the other, undoing it one-handed and dragging the zipper down, a hint if he ever saw one.

He doesn't tease her, just slips his hand down her stomach, bypassing her underwear to slide two fingers against her, brushing his thumb over her clit. She arches into his hand, trapping it against the tight fabric of her pants. He splays his free hand against her stomach, holding her in place so he has room to maneuver, and picks up a rhythm that he knows will work her up quickly.

She moans his name, all husky and wanting, and he turns his head so that he can see her face, watch her expression as he works her over. Her eyes are closed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her cheeks flushed pink. He glances down and finds he has a nice view straight down the front of her shirt, has to bite back a groan because _shit _she is so _hot_, chest heaving, fingers curling lightly around his wrist, guiding him a little until he finds the perfect spot that has her tensing in his arms and coming apart with a sob of release that she muffles by craning her neck and pressing her mouth against his throat.

She goes slack against him, boneless and a little out of breath. He keeps his fingers circling lightly until he's sure she's done, then buttons up her jeans for her and reaches up with his other hand to push the hair out of her eyes and off her sweaty forehead.

He moves to get off the bike, contemplating heading into the locker room to take a cold shower (or seven) when she spins around on the seat with surprising speed and agility, hooks her legs around his waist and grinds herself against his crotch.

He lets out a strangled _fuck_, automatically reaching out to wrap his arms around her waist, hauling her close enough to kiss.

"Didn't think I'd leave you _hanging_, did you, Castle?" she breathes into his lips, hips rolling against his in tight circles and _god _how can she make a _pun_ sound that sexy?

"I, uh…wasn't sure," he manages to get out as she sinks against him again and he can tell it's working for her too, can feel her body coiling with renewed need as she moves against him, soft, breathy moans of _yes_ and _Castle_ falling from those pink, thoroughly-kissed lips.

He manages to wait until her orgasm crests, until her back bows and she shudders against him before he lets go, pressing his mouth to hers in a sloppy, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth and lips, as they both come down from their high.

She melts into him, presses her face into his neck, completely spent. He really does _not _want to go inside. He kind of wants to stay in the parking garage all day or keep riding with her on her motorcycle or _something. _

It's going to take a seriously exciting murder to top what just happened.

"We should head in," she mumbles against his shirt collar, sounding just about as enthusiastic as he feels.

"Yeah," he agrees.

He stands up off the bike and she follows, but is still boneless enough that she stumbles a little. He reaches out to steady her, chuckling softly, and draws her into his chest, leaning down to press a light kiss to her lips.

"Feeling a little wobbly?" he murmurs, can't help it. He still can't get over the fact that he has this much effect on her.

She gives him a look, but it lacks her usual edge. "Don't get cocky."

"Too late," he says, grinning and hugging her tighter.

She rolls her eyes and pushes him away with a light shove to his chest. Spins on her heel and begins to stride away from him. He jogs after her, catching up quickly. "So, Beckett, did you like _riding _with me?"

"Shut up, Castle."

"Because that was really the _ride of my life_, if you know what I mean."

"_Castle_."

"You really rev me up. Get my engines running. Spark my plugs. Kick me into high gear."

"I am so close to pulling out my gun, you have _no idea._"

They reach the elevator and she presses the call button a little more forcefully than usual, before turning towards him and pressing a finger to the center of his chest. "I just gave you _sex _in a _parking garage _on my _motorcycle._ You better behave or you are taking a cab home."

He sobers up immediately, because she kind of has a point and he also_ really _wants to go for another ride on her motorcycle and—

_Shit. _That's just too good. He knows he should shut up, but—

"I can't _wait _to go for another rideon your motorcycle, Detective."

"Cab it is, then."

—

_Reviews=love. _

_In other news, I am currently watching the new promo on repeat and fangirling everywhere. So many feels. I can't even take it. _


	2. Redux

_A companion piece to the motorcycle piece. Not much motorcycling happening in this one, but there's still plenty of sexiness and adorableness to go around. Enjoy!_

—

She thought threatening him with the cab ride home would make him back off, but if anything it's only spurring him on. He's looking at her like he wants to devour her. He's looking at her like he has nothing to lose.

He refuses to keep his hands off her and really it's not like she's exactly fighting him off.

That was why she made all those strict _no hands _rules for when they're at the precinct. Because she knew he would be all over her otherwise and, more importantly, she knew she wouldn't be able to say no.

Her first slip up comes on the elevator ride up from the parking garage. He stands behind her, so close that her back is pressed to his front and she can feel every line of his body. Which of course makes her think about what he looks like naked. All those firm, smooth muscles, so responsive and sensitive to her touch.

She leans back against him for a moment and he bends down, blows hot air in her ear, hands ghosting along her waistline, barely there but oh so suggestive.

The ding of the opening doors saves her and she practically leaps away from him, stumbling out of the elevator and over to her desk. Then she makes the mistake of looking up and catching his eye as he practically stalks towards her, his eyes dark and wanting and she forgot he was wearing that blue shirt that looks so good on him and _shit no_ he is just _not _allowed to look at her like that.

He reaches her desk and she lists towards him, can't help it. She spent four years resisting him with every fiber of her being and then she got tired and realized it was so much more _fun _to _not _resist, but to give in to the want and love and just _go for it._

She almost kisses him. She comes so close, but then—

"Yo, Beckett, we got those financial records you wanted. Pretty interesting stuff."

"Enough for a warrant?" she asks, taking the file and _not _looking at the way Castle is looking at her.

She never should've let him ride her motorcycle. Well. She probably shouldn't have had _sex_ with him on her motorcycle. Yup. That was where she'd gone wrong. She needs to get herself under control. She is a grown woman and a professional and they've been doing this for almost three months now and _seriously _how is it possible that she still wants him this much—

"_Beckett_."

She snaps her gaze back to Esposito, who is eyeing her curiously. "Uh. What?" she says, then tries not to wince because she basically sounds brain dead and this is all Castle's fault.

"I said I think we got enough for a warrant. A little smooth talking and we're in. Ask Murray. He's totally into you."

"Hey!" Castle cries, the first thing he's said since stepping out of the elevator. Maybe because he's been too busy undressing her with his eyes.

"Calm down, Writer Boy. We all know Beckett only has eyes for you, but we gotta use her hotness where we can."

"Um, not okay," Castle says, completely and utterly indignant. Totally adorable. Fuckable. _God._ She was not going to survive the day. "I am the only one who is allowed to comment on Beckett's hotness."

"Jeez, Castle, what's with the sudden possessiveness?" she says, but when she rolls her eyes it's more affectionate than anything.

Esposito smirks at him and saunters off. Castle watches him go before sidling up to Beckett, moving his face so close to hers that his breath stirs a loose strand of her hair. She closes her eyes. Then opens them. Tries to focus on the file in her hand that she still has not succeeded in actually _reading_.

"You're not really going to use your magical flirting powers to get that judge to give you a warrant, are you?" he asks.

"Maybe," she mutters non-committally. "I'll look over these records and see what we've got."

"And if there isn't enough…"

She turns towards him, dips her eyelashes low, parts her lips. "Then I'll just have to use the greatest weapon at my disposal."

He takes in a sharp breath. "Your sexuality?" he guesses breathlessly, completely entranced by her dark, smoky eyes and the ways she's biting her lip and _oh man _she's totally staring at his mouth. He's going to have to kiss her. Pretty soon.

"No," she breathes, all husk and sex. "My _gun_."

He can't breathe. She's so hot. There are no words.

She smirks at him, totally triumphant, then steps around him, leaving him to try and remember how to get oxygen into his lungs.

—

The financial records are good, lots of holes and suspicious-looking inconsistencies, but not quite good enough.

Beckett is suddenly glad she decided to dress a little sluttier than usual this morning. It was mostly for Castle's benefit, the whole biker chick persona, and she was going to change at the precinct, but now she decides to use it to her advantage.

She goes to find Murray, the judge with a soft spot for her cleavage, and Castle _of course_ insists on coming. He wants to take the motorcycle, but she decides that might be a little too obvious.

She catches him just as he's leaving his chambers. Castle is standing a few feet away, pretending to read a magazine, but really watching her approach Murray. She saunters towards him, knowing he's looking at her legs in those black boots and tight denim that had Castle drooling this morning.

"Charlie." Beckett greets him by his first name, a privilege she earned after she ran into him in a pencil skirt a couple months ago.

"Detective," he says, leering a little, but she doesn't really mind. He's not too gross about it and it usually ends up helping her in the long run.

"I need a warrant," she says, going straight for the point.

He listens while she explains the situation, shows him the financials. He continues listening when she _accidentally_ drops a paper and bends over to pick it up, standing back up nice and slow, giving him a nice long view of anything he might happen to want to look at it.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"Well…" He hesitates, looks torn. She flicks her tongue out to wet her bottom lip before catching it between her teeth. His eyes drift to her mouth, then lower. "I guess…"

"You guess?" she practically purrs, reaches up to twirl a strand of hair around her finger for good measure.

"I guess, yeah, a warrant. I could do that."

"Great!" she chirps, flashing a practically blinding smile.

He smiles too. Steps a little closer. "And maybe later…we could get a drink?"

Ugh. _Men._

"I'm busy tonight," she says, her tone hard now, all-business.

He blinks at her. "Oh, okay. Well maybe—"

"Have a good day, Judge Murray," she cuts him off, striding off towards the door out of the courthouse, warrant officially secured.

—

Castle finds her out on the street, leaning against the car, waiting for him. He walks over to her and immediately puts his hands on her hips, bracketing her waist, a little possessive, a little needy. It makes her shiver.

"You didn't use your gun," he points out, tugging her closer even as she resists, leaning away from him, back against the driver's side door.

"My sexuality seemed to suffice," she murmurs.

The fact that her gaze is fixated on his mouth is not lost on him, so he decides to risk it. He presses forward, pinning her against the car, his body warm and broad and strong against hers.

She lets out an almost inaudible sigh, her breath hitching as he bends close, catches her earlobe in his teeth briefly, before trailing his lips across her cheek to her mouth. He brushes his tongue across her bottom lip and she opens to him immediately, moaning darkly, reaching up to fist the lapels of his jacket in her hands.

He slides his tongue deeper into her mouth, pushing past the boundaries of what is acceptable to do on a public street probably, but he doesn't care, because he loves her so much and she is so beautiful and confident and powerful and sexy and also vulnerable when she wants to be, so gentle he could weep.

She gives into him. Forgets where they are. Wraps her arms around her neck as he slants his mouth across hers again and again and by the time he pulls away she's completely boneless, couldn't stand if her life depended on it.

She presses her hands to his chest and leans against him. _Holy shit_. She hadn't seen that one coming.

He brushes his lips across her forehead, rests them at her temple. Her body is alive and humming and _wanting him_ so badly she actually aches.

"I hated watching you flirt with that guy," he admits and he knows it might sound silly or petty, but he really doesn't care.

She smiles faintly, but its hidden against his shirt collar. "You jealous, Castle?"

"Yes," he says, no guile or teasing. Dead serious. "I want you all to myself. And not just as a writer, but as a man, too."

"I'm yours," she promises him, lifting her head to press a kiss to his lips, quicker and sweeter than the last one. "You're it for me, Castle. Okay?"

He nods, letting out a long, relieved breath, like he actually needed the reassurance. "Okay." He kisses her again. "I love you, you know."

She grins. "I know."

She turns away from him, out of his arms, and reached for the car door. "Oh, and Castle?"

He pauses halfway around the car. Looks up at her. "You can ride home with me."

—

She lies on his bed, feeling naked in more ways that one.

She doesn't know what came over him. Somewhere between kissing her outside the courthouse and undressing her in his bedroom, something seemed to come undone inside him. He's suddenly somber in his love for her, completely serious. His eyes are dark and oh-so-knowing. His hands are fervent as they map the curves of her skin.

He loves her. He wants her. It's not a joke. She's his and he's hers and she's going to spend the rest of her life with him.

It changes her too, when she realizes it, and realizes she _knows _it, deep in her soul. Something settles inside her. Something permanent and bright and beautiful.

He follows her onto the bed, crawling up her body, his movements slow and measured, like he has all the time in the world. And he does. They do.

She pulls him to her and he doesn't resist, just sinks down against her and into her, filling her deeply and completely, his eyes intent on her face as her lips part, as her eyes flutter shut, because it's just _so good_, always is.

"_Castle_," she gasps, wraps her arms around him, pulls him down for a kiss.

She loves his weight over her, the way his body can envelop her, the way she can lose herself in him.

"I love you," he whispers softly as he moves over her, infinitely gentle, achingly sweet.

"I love you," she says back and wonders if they've ever said it to each other in the middle of sex. Maybe not, because then it's making love, because then it's laying yourself bare, breaking open, losing control.

She's never been any good at that, but it's _him_. It's Castle. He'll love her no matter what, so she says it again, finds she likes the way it sounds on her lips, breathless and undone and _true. _

"I love you," she murmurs, arching into him, lifting into his body as he begins to pick up the pace, the rhythm of his hips quickening. She lifts her leg higher around his waist, changing the angle, feeling herself begin to come apart.

She presses her face into his neck, clings to him, breaks apart suddenly, her body shuddering in his sure grasp.

He follows a moment later, collapsing against her, warm and heavy and spent and she smiles against his cheek, runs her hands up his back.

He pulls back after a few seconds, looks her in the eye. He's never loved her more. "You're it for me too, Kate." He kisses her. "Okay?"

She nods. Kisses him again. "Okay."

She feels so full and she thinks there must be more to say, but no, _no_, she doesn't have to say anything because he's looking at her like he sees everything, like he can picture their future in the green of her eyes and the curl of her lips, so she pulls him close again and just breathes.

Just breathes.

—

_So this actually turned out a little more serious than I'd originally intended, but I kinda like it. I also like the idea of the companion pieces mirroring each other, linked together, but also sort of opposite in the emotion and intent. _

_ Anyway. I hope you enjoyed it. Please review!_


End file.
